


for I would throw myself into the flames that you need not burn

by thesecretdetectivecollection



Series: for i would gladly burn to spare you [1]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Friends to Lovers, M/M, Slow recovery, away team is held captive, descriptions of torture, um repeating that one about torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-15
Updated: 2019-01-15
Packaged: 2019-10-10 13:04:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17426423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesecretdetectivecollection/pseuds/thesecretdetectivecollection
Summary: The planet was supposed to be uninhabited.Famous last words, Leonard thinks sourly, as he holds up Jim’s limp weight on one side, Lieutenant Chang on the other side.Two aliens walk into their cell. “Leader?” one of them grunts, looking around at each of them.Leonard makes a decision that later on he will have no explanation for. He looks down at Jim, utterly unconscious, and before he can think too much, or at all, he stands up.“Captain Leonard McCoy, USS Enterprise. We mean you no harm, and if you let us return to our ship, we will leave your planet at once,” he says calmly.





	for I would throw myself into the flames that you need not burn

The planet was supposed to be uninhabited.

 

Famous last words, Leonard thinks sourly, as he holds up Jim’s limp weight on one side, Lieutenant Chang on the other side.

 

It was a small landing party—it was supposed to be a safe planet, a good chance for less experienced personnel to get off the ship. There’s no way Jim would have signed off on Chekov going on a dangerous mission. He tried not to show it, but Leonard knew his friend was a little protective of the youngest member of his bridge crew.

 

The aliens—tall, muscular, scaly things, almost reptilian with their forked tongues, speak in a series of hisses that not even Uhura can understand.

 

Uhura, who wouldn’t be here if they’d known this was a hostile species.

 

As it is, the reptilian race seems, among other things, to be chauvinistic, and so they don’t pay her much mind, and she and Chekov are in the middle of the bundle of captives, Lieutenant Segal bringing up the rear and Leonard, Chang, and Jim in front. While they’re all walking together, Leonard is leading, walking with a carefully straight back and making sure he projects a confidence he doesn’t feel. He keeps trying to evaluate Jim out of the corner of his eye, where the command gold shirt is tied around his arm to create a makeshift sling and the sleeves of Leonard’s own science blue were torn off to form a dressing for Jim’s abdomen, where he’s gotten a deep slice. The fabric had turned a deep purple within minutes.

 

They get tossed into a single cell, all six of them, and it’s a blessing, that at least Leonard can keep an eye on everyone at once.

 

Two aliens walk into their cell. “Leader?” one of them grunts, looking around at each of them.

 

Leonard makes a decision that later on he will have no explanation for. He looks down at Jim and before he can think too much, or at all, he stands up.

 

“Captain Leonard McCoy, USS Enterprise. We mean you no harm, and if you let us return to our ship, we will leave your planet at once,” he says calmly.

 

He can feel Uhura’s gaze piercing through him, and hopes they know enough not to give the game away.

 

He is unreasonably disappointed when they each seize him by the arms and drag him out of the cell.

 

He gets one last look at his friends and tries to smile reassuringly. “It’s going to be okay,” he calls as he gets dragged away.

 

Jim is conscious, but delirious when they bring Leonard back to the cell, covered in bruises with one of his eyes swollen shut.

 

Jim waits until their captors are gone, and immediately turns to him. “How fucking _dare_ you?” he hisses.

 

Leonard shrugs. “If you tell them the truth now, they’ll kill me. I might’ve been a little… impolite.”

 

“What the _fuck_ were you thinking, Leonard?” Jim’s voice is harsh, the sort of harsh that Leonard’s never had aimed at him, because he’s never messed up this badly before.

 

“You were unconscious, they weren’t going to try beating information out of you anyway. And I was the ranking officer at the time. So I was thinking I wasn’t going to let them beat the crap out of an already injured man or one of the other people under my command.” Leonard shrugs and ignores the way it sends a sharp pain through his chest.

 

“That was not your decision to make,” Jim’s fuming.

 

Leonard goes quiet. “It was, actually. My commanding officer was unconscious. It was absolutely my decision to make. Whether you disagree with it or not is your decision to make, Cap—Jim. I don’t think they have the room bugged, and they’re not the best at Standard, so if we can keep our voices down, we should be able to talk with a fair degree of confidence that they won’t be listening. Now, let me take a look at you.” He strips off the remains of his blue shirt and cuts it into strips, carefully removing the old bandages and replacing them with the newer, cleaner ones.

 

“That doesn’t look like it needs stitches just yet,” he says quietly, before he moves on to check Jim’s shoulder, which has some swelling from being dislocated and then relocated in the field. There’s nothing Leonard can do for that, though, and he just sighs and carefully replaces it in the sling.

 

“I want to see the rest of you, too. Chekov, you first, son, let’s check out that cut on your forehead, see if we can’t stop you bleeding into your eyes, hm?”

 

Chekov sits meekly through his ministrations, and when Leonard’s about to get up and move on to Uhura and the lieutenants from security, the young man reaches out for his wrist. “That was wery brave,” he says quietly, “taking the keptin’s place.”

 

Leonard smiles at him. “Someone’s gotta look after you kids out here,” he says warmly, and Chekov smiles back.

 

He looks over the two lieutenants from security—both a little busted up, as expected, since they, along with Jim, bore the brunt of the fighting until they’d eventually been captured. They’re stoic as they get patched up as best as Leonard can manage. Their captors had taken the official medkit, but Leonard carried a little emergency kit that was less bulky and fit nicely in his pocket, and they hadn’t taken that, so he has a few alcohol wipes, a needle and thread, and a couple basic hypos that Jim won’t react to—one analgesic and one antibiotic. He decides to hold those back until he’s absolutely sure somebody needs them.

 

Uhura is last. She’s composed as she lets Leonard do a basic check and find that she’s truly uninjured, by some miracle, a bit of a scrape on her knees from where she’d fallen, but nothing else. He cleans it off with some of the water they’d been given, and prays it’s not infected.

 

“How bad was it?” she asks, voice so low he almost wonders if he’d imagined it.

 

“Fine. About the same as when a bunch of kids beat me up in school once. They just hit. No knives, no breaking fingers or dislocating joints,” Leonard breathes, not wanting anyone else to hear. “Come over here, Uhura, you’ll freeze all on your own in that corner,” he says in a normal voice, heading back to Jim.

 

He wraps his arms around Jim and holds him close. Jim lets it happen, though he doesn’t really return the embrace. Leonard chooses to believe that he can’t without hurting his arm, and pretends not to hear the nearly silent whisper.

 

“I don’t know if I can ever forgive you for this, Bones.”

 

Chekov and Uhura lay down close to each other, talking quietly, and Chang and Segal do the same. Leonard wonders at it, at how they’ve all paired off, even in their little group, but they’re all together and they’re all safe, in a manner of speaking, so he reminds himself to be grateful and hopes that Spock and Scotty will get them out soon.

 

The second day, their captors start to lose their patience, and instead of just beating him up a little, they strap him down and bring out a whip. He starts out counting the lashes, but he loses consciousness at some point.

 

He wakes with a yell, face and chest drenched with some sort of cold liquid he prays is water.

 

“Tell us what you know and the pain will stop,” comes a hoarse, guttural voice over the intercom, a recording they play after each session ends and before each new one begins.

 

Leonard swallows past a dry throat. “Captain Leonard McCoy, USS Enterprise, serial number—“

 

One of the aliens steps forward, blade in hand, and Leonard’s stomach drops. He tries to remind himself that they won’t kill him, not while he has information, and tries, desperately, to tell himself that even if they do kill him, it’ll be okay because he’ll have gained the others some time—

 

Leonard has seen all sorts of nasty things, from penis cancer, to Gorn octuplets, to tapeworms longer than their host is tall.

 

He closes his eyes so he doesn’t have to see the blade slip under his fingernail, pulling it away from the skin until it’s gone, finger raw and dripping blood onto the cold stone floor.

 

“Tell us what you know and the pain will stop,” the voice repeats.

 

“Leonard McCoy, Captain, USS Enter—“ Leonard can’t quite help it. He screams when the next fingernail comes off, and the next.

 

They throw him back into the cell several hours later, clothes drenched in water and vomit and blood and probably urine—he hadn’t been allowed a break for the bathroom, after all, and he’d passed out a few times.

 

He tries not to think about it and looks around the cell. Jim’s sleeping and pale, and the bandages are dark with blood.

 

“Uhura,” Leonard says softly, so as not to wake him, “I need your help.”

 

She rises, looking him over, and he tries to be casual as he hides his hands behind his back, but she notices and narrows her eyes anyway.

 

“Help me get this shirt off,” he mumbles.

 

“If I didn’t know you any better, Leonard, I’d say that was a come on,” she says, trying to smile and failing. Instead she looks miserable and worried, and Leonard wishes desperately that she wasn’t here with them, that she was somewhere safe, with Spock.

 

He lets one side of his mouth quirk up. “Don’t tell your Vulcan boyfriend, or he’ll be more pissed than usual.”

 

“What did they—Leonard, holy shit!” Her hands fly to cover her mouth, and Leonard can feel four pairs of eyes on his back, the skin that’s shredded and torn from the whip.

 

“Whip,” he says quietly, “don’t use all of it on my back, I need some for… somewhere else.”

 

Uhura’s expression evens out, eyes hard as she looks at him. “Where else?”

Leonard pauses. “It’s not pretty,” he says quietly, “you shouldn’t look. I can take care of it myself.”

 

“Leo.” She hasn’t called him that since the academy, and it’s hardly fair of her to bring it out now, when Leonard’s so goddamn vulnerable.

 

“They pulled off my fingernails,” he admits, still keeping his hands hidden, “I can take care of it myself, though.”

 

“I’m not doubting your ability, Leo,” Uhura says quietly, “but I don’t believe in that physician, heal thyself stuff. And besides, it’s not like I have anything else to do, other than making sure the captain doesn’t lose his mind and try to take your place.”  
  
Leonard tried to smile, he really does, but the expression sits strangely on his face. “I’m just doing my part for the entire population of men, women, and non-binary humans and humanoids who’d be devastated if that pretty face got messed up.”  
  
She laughs, a sharp, bright burst of laughter that wakes Jim.  
  
“Bones?” He mumbles, eyes half-focused as they scan the cell.  
  
“Here, Jimmy,” Leonard says warmly, “just having a chat with Uhura, that’s all. Go back to sleep.”  
  
“Are you alright?”  
  
Leonard can feel that same smile on his face, the one that looks like it’s been screwed on against his will, and promptly abandons it. Instead he tries to project a steady calm. “I’ll be okay, Jim. Just a little tired.”  
  
If he’d hoped that would get past his best friend and the one person in the universe who knows him better than his own mother, he’d be disappointed.  
  
“Come here. Let me see,” he demands, and Leonard obeys despite a childish inclination to just refuse.  
  
He kneels in front of Jim and smiles at him. “See? I’m good as gold, promise,” he says, keeping his fingers out of Jim’s eye line.  
  
“Hate seeing you like this,” Jim whispers, and their stubborn, brilliant, wonderful crew does them the favor of pretending they can’t hear every single word, “it’s not supposed to be you, Bones. It’s never supposed to be you. You’re supposed to be safe, always. This?” He traces the boundaries of Bones’ swollen eye with a featherlight touch. “This is my job. You’re too important.”  
  
Leonard forgets himself and wraps his hand around Jim’s slender fingers. “I can think of a whole ship’s worth of people who’d argue that you’re more important. And I’m one of them, Jim. Now—“  
  
Jim’s eyes suddenly narrow and he grabs Leonard’s hand by the wrist, cursing so colorfully that Chekov's eyes go wide. “I’m going to fucking _kill_ them,” he growls, “only that’s too gentle. Everything they’ve done to you, I’ll do to them three times over, I swear to every god out there—“  
  
Leonard shakes his head. “No, you are going to lie here, keep morale up among your crew, look after them, and make sure they survive long enough for Spock to get them out. That’s what you’ll do, James Tiberius Kirk.”  
  
Jim shakes his head futilely. “Anything else,” he whispers, “ask me to do anything else, and I will, Bones, I promise, but not this. I can’t do this, please don’t ask me to.”  
  
Leonard looks at him, at his best friend with his beautiful eyes and golden hair, and he admits to himself that he might love him as a little bit more than a friend. He climbs up next to him in the barely padded bench and wraps his arms around him, ignoring the sharp pain from where his back is pressed against the cold stone, even through the thin bandages. He ignores that his fingers have no nails and no bandages, that’s the wounds are raw and exposed to the air.  
  
“if you just keep them alive, I won’t ask you anything,” he says to Jim, “them and you. That’s all I can ask. For now, though, maybe we could try to sleep, you and me, hm?”  
  
Jim looks at him and doesn’t say a word for a long moment, before leaning into the hollow of Leonard’s throat and just breathing. “I’ll do it,” he whispers against Leonard’s skin, “if you promise you’ll stay alive until help comes.”  
  
“I’ll try my best.” Leonard knows the temptation of making promises he can’t keep. He’s succumbed to it, too. He’s looked into a mother’s eyes and promised to save her dying son. He’s looked into his daughter’s eyes and told her nothing would change when he moved out. Looking into Jim’s eyes now, he can already imagine it. It’s selfish, perhaps, to deny him this comfort, but if he dies, he doesn’t want to go knowing that Jim hates him for not keeping his promise.  
  
“That’s not what I asked.” Jim’s voice is quiet, very nearly resigned.  
  
“It’s all I can promise you,” Leonard whispers back, “I’m so sorry, Jimmy. I’ll do absolutely everything in my power to come back to you every single night until we get back home.”  
  
“We never—“ Jim doesn’t finish the sentence, but Leonard knows what he means. They’d never addressed it, how the easy physicality between them sometimes turned into a sort of visceral chemistry and mutual attraction so searing it burned, even across the space between them. They’d never kissed. Never had sex. Never gone to a planet for shore leave and flirted the whole time. Never held hands as they walked. Never seen the proud looks on their mother’s’ faces when they told them they’d finally understood.  
  
“I know. But we will, when Spock gets us out of here. He’s coming, you know he is.” Leonard rubs his hands up and down Jim’s arms, careful of the one that’s injured.  
  
Jim presses his lips against Bones’ throat, a chaste, private kiss that would probably light him up inside under any other circumstances. But as it is, it’s just a comfort, and Leonard feels himself drifting off to sleep, Jim’s warm weight still pressed against him.

 

He wakes to the creaking of the door of their cell, just half a second before he’s grabbed roughly by the arms as everyone else wakes up. They pull him apart from Jim harshly.  
  
“No! Don’t hurt him anymore, please—“ Jim begs, and Leonard tries to catch his eye.  
  
“It’ll be okay,” he calls as he’s being taken, “I promised.”  
  
His last glance of his friends is of Jim’s beautiful blue eyes, the look of abject terror on his face, a fear he can do nothing about.  
  
That’s the day Leonard thinks he might not be able to recover from this.  
  
That’s the day where they pour hot water over his back, where the whip marks are starting to scab. It burns like nothing else Leonard’s ever felt, and at first he thinks it’s just the temperature of the water blistering his skin, but when it doesn’t fade, he realizes that it’s not pure water. It has salt in it, almost to the point of saturation, and he screams, hoping against hope Jim and the others won’t be able to hear it.  
  
After they’re done with that, they strap him down into a chair, and he isn’t sure what they’ll do—the last time they’d done this, they’d taken his nails, but he has nothing left on his hands for them to take—  
  
It’s the distal interphalangeal joint on his pinky finger. They bend it back until his bone gives up and snaps. He bites through his lower lip trying not to scream.  
  
Then it’s the proximal interphalangeal joint. The blood tastes metallic as it fills his mouth.  
  
Metacarpophalangeal joint. He screams.  
  
He’s sobbing when they pulls away, his left pinky almost unrecognizable as a human finger. It’s swollen and disjointed and the tip seems like it’s just hanging there, limp.  
  
He looks at it, and for a moment, it doesn’t even register that it’s his finger. It’s just something attached where his finger should be.  
  
“If you tell us what we need to know, Captain McCoy, the pain will stop.”  
  
The words barely cut through the sound of his sobbing, but somehow they serve to remind him of the lie.  
  
“Captain Leonard Horatio McCoy, USS Enterprise, serial number—“  
  
He passes out by the time they finish with to his middle finger and they graciously allow him to rest for some indeterminate stretch of time. It could have been hours, but it feels like seconds.  
  
They wait for him to wake up before they do the rest of his fingers, though they’re less kind the next time he passes out and promptly douse him in frigid water until he wakes and they can continue. Salted, of course, so it burns in all the open wounds.  
  
He dissociates when around when they start on his right hand. He leaves his body and hovers near the ceiling, watching them break the fingers of the poor, pathetic prisoner, shirt covered in water and vomit, sobbing as he screams in pain.  
  
He feels sorry for him, in a detached, disaffected sort of way, and watches as a club is swung into his knees, listens to the screams and the sobs and the desperate pleading and the cursing.  
  
He observes it all, and follows behind as they finally decide to end for the day and drag him back to the cell, tossing him in and locking the door behind him.  
  
“Leo!” Uhura cries out, clearly alarmed. “What—“  
  
“There’s nothing you can do,” Leonard whispers, catching her eye, “Nothing I could do, even if my hands weren’t ruined. I’d need an osteoregen. And a fuckton of drugs.”  
  
“What did they—“ she catches sight of his hands and almost vomits.  
  
“I puked too,” Leonard says hoarsely, “Half of it is the pain, but then I saw it and I puked again.”  
  
Uhura curses in a colorful assortment of languages, face drawn.  
  
She tries to help him up, and he cries out in pain.  
  
“Kneecapped,” he mutters, as Chekov and Chang both rise to help him over to the bench.  
  
“I am sorry. Zis is not a good time to tell you that ze keptin is unconscious and still bleeding,” Chekov says miserably.  
  
“Fuck,” Leonard mutters, “I don’t—I can’t—“

 

“Leo,” Uhura says, voice level because it has to be, “you be the brains, we’ll be the hands. Just tell us what to do.”

 

“Why don’t you start by telling me what the hell happened,” Leonard replies, managing to get himself sat against the wall and ignoring the feeling of filthy stone against his skin.

 

“He kind of lost it after they took you again,” Uhura says quietly, “begged for a little bit, then he screamed and then he started trying to find a way out of here—the slice above his hip opened up again, he probably didn’t do his shoulder any favors, either. Then he got quiet, and we—they don’t take you that far away, Leo. We could hear you. He threw up, hearing what they were doing to you. Wouldn’t eat, said it wouldn’t be worth giving him food since he wasn’t sure he’d be able to keep it down. And then he just sat here, quiet, and eventually, he closed his eyes and we thought maybe he was resting, somehow? Sleeping or something, but when I tried to wake him, he wouldn’t wake up and he was burning up—“

 

Leonard closes his eyes and wills away the pain radiating through him, trying to clear his mind. “Right. Okay, who in this room has any experience with sewing? Uhura? Some people still force their kids into gendered activities—“

 

She shakes her head. “Never. I was an arts and music and languages sort of kid.”

 

“Chang? Segal?”

 

Both shake their heads.

 

“I know some,” Chekov says quietly, “my grandmamma taught me, when I vas small and my parents vere vorking. It has been a long time, though.”

 

“Doesn’t matter, I’ll talk you through it,” Leonard promises, nervous as hell at the fact that Jim was about to be stitched up by a nineteen year old makeshift surgeon.

 

Chekov takes a deep breath, expression determined.

 

“I’ve got a needle and thread in the medkit. It was in my pocket, I hid it under the padding on the bench, back left corner, right up against the wall. Grab it and thread the needle to start with.”

 

Chekov retrieves the kit and takes out the needle and thread, leaning in close to the bars to try to get as much light as he can to push the thread through the eye of the needle.

 

Leonard nods, trying to smile at the boy. “You’re going to do great, Pasha,” he says softly, “after this, gossip will say _you’ve_ got the steadiest hands on the ship.”

 

Pavel smiles back at him, and Leonard aches for a moment, because the boy looks so incredibly young. He wonders if he’ll ever get to see Joanna when she’s nineteen, or if he’ll be dead by then. He blinks the thought of his little girl away and focuses.

 

“Okay, Pasha, do we have any extra water we can use to wash out the cut?”

 

He nods, and Uhura takes the large communal water bowl they’re given each day and carefully tips out some of it over Jim’s stomach, washing away the blood as best she can.

 

“That’s enough,” Leonard says, even though it’s not. They still need to have enough to drink, after all, and he hasn’t had a drop since they’d taken him. “Okay, Pavel, take the needle and push it through the skin—I know, son, I know, that first one is the worst, I promise. Push it—are you under?”

 

Pavel nods. “Good! You’re a born surgeon,” Leonard praises, “doing great. Now, we need to push it back through on the other side and pull—be careful you don’t pull the thread all the way through, Pasha, or we’ll need to redo that one.”

 

Pavel is careful as he leaves a small tail of thread hanging out, and the two sides of the cut hang together.

 

He coaches Pavel through the rest of the stitches, telling him how to get them to criss cross so they hold the skin together better. He gets the hang of it, their little navigator, and eventually he works in silence, Leonard keeping an eye out until they’re at the last stitch.

 

“Okay, now we tie it off. There’s a special knot that surgeons do that took me ages to learn, and I don’t know how to explain it without showing you—and I can’t show you, not now… Do you know any cool knots, Pasha? Something strong that won’t come out right away. And something you can teach the captain afterwards, because he’s going to be so proud of you and he won’t leave you alone until you teach him.”

 

Pavel smiles weakly and closes his eyes for a moment before tying a very serviceable knot—something that looks like it belongs more in a scout manual than on the surgeon’s table, but gets the job done.

 

He looks up at Leonard until he’s told he’s done and takes the needle out of the thread, putting it back into the medkit. Then he goes to the corner they’ve been using as a toilet and promptly pukes his guts out.

 

Leonard rises and stands next to him, resting his arm across the younger man’s back. “I know,” he murmurs, “I know, that was awful, but you did amazing. After this, I’ll give you full permission to never leave the ship again, Pasha, I promise. You’re staying right where I can keep an eye on you, okay? Did I ever tell you about my daughter? She’s a few years younger than you, but you remind me of her sometimes. She’s smart as a whip…”

 

He talks to Pavel until he’s done throwing up and then leads him back to the rest of the group, sitting down beside him. Normally he’d sit with Jim, but he looks at Uhura and they communicate without saying a single word. That’s new, he thinks to himself, but he’s relieved she understands and lifts Jim’s head onto her lap, stroking his hair as he sleeps.

 

Leonard smiles at them, wondering what kind of pickup line Jim would use if he’d woken up like that at the Academy.

 

There’s a quiet sniffling coming from next to him, though, and carefully, he wraps his arm around Chekov and holds him close.

 

“Next time we go to Terra, I’m going to tell your grandma just how brilliant you are,” he says gently, “I’m going to tell her what a great man she’s raised, how incredibly brave he is, how amazing he is.”

 

Chekov leans into him, his face pressed against the shreds of Leonard’s shirt, quietly dampening the fabric. “She vould not understand,” he says after a long while, “she only speaks Russian.”

 

Leonard presses his lips to the boy’s hair, and Chang and Segal have the grace to look away. “She’ll understand,” he promises, “I’ll memorize it in Russian. You can teach me on our way back. Besides, parents and grandparents always understand when someone’s talking up their babies. Someone could tell me how great Jo was in Klingon and I’d know what they meant and shake their hand.”

 

Pavel takes a deep, shuddering breath. “I want to see her again,” he whispers, “tell her I love her. Tell her she saved the keptin’s life when she taught me how to sew.”

 

“We will. I’ll make sure you get back to her, Pasha, I promise you that.” Leonard wonders if that’s a promise he’ll be able to keep, and knows that it is. He’ll die before he lets Pavel die, and once he’s gone, all the others would do the same.

 

“What is Joanna’s faworite subject in school?” he asks quietly, after a few minutes of sitting in silence, nestled against Leonard’s chest.

 

They talk about Jo for a long, long while, until Pavel drifts off to sleep, clinging tight to Leonard’s middle.

 

He looks around to check on everyone else, and Uhura is the only one who’s still awake. “Don’t make me into a liar,” he rasps at her, and she nods, fingers still stroking through Jim’s hair.

 

“They’re coming, Leo, I know they are. We’ll get back home soon.”

 

Leonard wants to agree, but mostly he wants Jim to hold him the way he’s holding Chekov against his broken body, and his eyes close against his will.

 

It’s an eerie feeling of déjà vu, when they come in the morning to take him. Pavel’s still sleeping, wrenched out of unconsciousness when Leonard gets hauled up and away, and suddenly his eyes are young and fearful as he watches the aliens take the doctor. “Take care of him,” he shouts back at them, and Uhura nods desolately.

 

At that moment, Leonard McCoy wishes for a lot of things, but mostly he wishes that he’d gotten to see Jim’s eyes before it started again.

 

They start with the whip again, reopening old wounds until they get bored and lay him down to kick him in the ribs.  
  
This time, they keep at it even as he drifts into unconsciousness.  
  
“Leonard? Leonard!”  
  
“Captain Leonard McCoy, USS Enterprise,” he screams, with what feels like the last iota of defiance he has left in him.  
  
“Hm. Are you delirious, Leonard?” The voice is cool and the hands that lift him up are warm, warmer than the aliens. Warmer even than a human’s hands should be.  
  
_I know him_ , his brain provides stubbornly, and when he opens his eyes and his vision clears, he sees familiar dark brown eyes, very nearly black, looking back at him. “Spock? Is this real or did they give me something?”  
  
“It’s real, Leonard.”  
  
Leonard shakes his head. “No, if it was real, Spock would save Jim and ‘hura first,” he mumbles, “and he’d bring help.”  
  
“He did bring help.” Sulu’s voice is clear and stern as it rings out from the doorway, “and we’re getting all of you out, Doctor. Nobody gets left behind. Not on our ship.”  
  
Leonard stares at him, dumbfounded. “They’re this way,” he says after he’s recovered, “did you already find them?”  
  
“No, Leonard, you were the first we found,” Spock says calmly, and both he and Sulu have their phasers out as they help Leonard lead them to the others.  
  
Uhura lets out a sob of relief and Leonard will take the look of joy on Chekov’s face with him to the grave.  
  
“Mr. Scott, right to beam up, and have a medical team standing by,” Spock says tersely, and Leonard wants to pipe up that it probably won’t work in here, that they probably have to get outside before they can transport, but for once, the goddamn technology comes through and they disappear in a bright light.  
  
Spock holds on to him until they get him on a gurney. “M’Benga, focus on Jim,” he barks, “my injuries aren’t as severe, he has a deep laceration in the lower left quadrant, field dressing was applied and stitches were necessary, but it got infected. Run a culture, and I want him on the strongest possible cocktail of antibiotics that won't send him into anaphylactic shock.”  
  
“Your injuries aren’t as severe?” Chapel asks incredulously, “just do me a favor and close your eyes, this is gonna pinch—“ There’s a gentle hiss of a hypospray being injected into his trapezius, and suddenly Leonard’s eyes are heavy.  
  
He wakes up some time later and wonders how long it will take before he’s able to gauge the passage of time again. That is in the split second before he’s sitting upright. “Jim!” He calls, “Jim, Nyota, Pasha, Chang, Segal!” His mind runs through them all like a checklist and he keeps screaming their names in sequence until Chapel arrives at his bedside, panting.  
  
“Where are they? Where is my crew?” He demands, craning his neck to see if he can catch a glimpse of them.  
  
“Leonard,” she says gently, “Dr. McCoy. You’re back on the Enterprise, sir, we got you out. We got all of you out.”  
  
“Where are they?” Leonard asks again, relaxing infinitesimally.  
  
“They’re here,” she says softly, pulling away the privacy curtain around his biobed.  
  
“Their status, Chapel?” He asks, trying to inflect his voice with authority, but the relief undercuts the order and it comes out as more of a plea.  
  
“Chang, Segal, and Uhura are Fine, just here for observation for the night. We’ll get them a bit of a nutrient boost, get them rehydrated, and they’ll be discharged.”  
  
“Counseling strongly advised for all of them,” Leonard says quietly, “first appointment required, I want them all to get the deal of approval before they return to active duty.”  
  
Chapel nods. “Chekov was mostly fine, minor cuts and bruises, we have the dermal regen working on that cut on his forehead, but he’ll be fine by morning.”  
  
“He’s getting a commendation for exceptional valor. Have the paperwork on my desk or send it up to Spock, tell him I ordered it. One for Uhura too, she was amazing down there.”  
  
“I’ll make sure I do that, Len.”  
  
Leonard nods and swallows, dread nearly closing up his throat.  
  
“And Jimmy?” He whispers finally, “How is he? Please tell me he’s okay, Chapel, _please_ —“   
  
“The injuries weren’t all that bad, but the infection was pretty nasty. He’s on vancomycin, his fever’s gone, and Geoff took out the stitches and he’s got the dermal regen working on that cut. Nothing much to do for that shoulder but rest it and let it heal, though. It's back in place without any problems, so give it a few weeks and he’ll be doing pull-ups shirtless in the gym again."  
  
Leonard finally relaxes against the pillows.  
  
Chapel opens her mouth, but Leonard shakes his head. “I don’t wanna know,” he says quietly, eyes closing, “I’ll ask whoever’s on during Alpha shift.”  
  
She nods. “From what I hear, you’re a damn fine captain,” she whispers, and it’s the last thing Leonard hears before he drifts off to sleep.  
  
Leonard wakes up and finds he has somehow slept through all of Alpha shift. He’s told more patients than he can count that healing is exhausting and you need more sleep while you do it, but somehow he’s still surprised and a little bit vexed at himself. He sits up, gasping a little at the pain in his ribs from doing so, and presses the call button.  
  
“Leonard,” Geoff greets him as he walks up, smiling.  
  
“My—the others?”  
  
“Your crew?” Geoff asks with a kind smile, “they’ve all been discharged except for Jim, I’m keeping him under observation until he finishes his course of vanc.”  
  
Leonard nods, looking down into his lap.  
  
“So. How long?”  
  
“Awhile, Len. You’ll be here awhile. Couple weeks, minimum. You might need some PT, you know what our facilities are like for that, we may need to transfer you to a starbase or SFM for that.”  
  
“How likely am I to be asked to consider a lateral transfer into internal medicine or pathology?”  
  
“We just got you back, Len. Whatever happens, we’re not letting you go quite yet.”

 

Leonard nods. “Better get comfortable here, I guess,” he says quietly, “is there a PADD that can be modified to be voice activated? At least while my hands are—“ he stumbles over how to describe the mangled mess that is his hands, “—out of commission,” he finishes lamely.

 

“I’ll make sure we get you one. But for now, why don’t you lay back down? I know you’re tired, even though it feels like you’ve only been up for ten minutes.”

 

“It _has_ only been ten minutes,” Leonard says stubbornly, unwilling to admit that he actually is tired, and probably could go for some sleep.

 

“I know. Just get comfortable here, and I’ll be back in a minute with that PADD you asked for.”

 

Geoff must be some kind of saint, Leonard thinks as he watches him walk away. _He_ definitely wouldn’t have been that gentle with himself.

 

By the time Geoff gets the PADD, Leonard is already asleep, and if his smile tinges from fond to smug for a few seconds, no one is any the wiser.

 

Leonard wakes up to a weight on his forearm, and as he wakes up, he sees that it’s a hand, wrapped around his arm.

 

He shifts his head to the right and sees Jim sitting back in a chair, eyes closed but somehow still looking utterly exhausted.

 

“You should rest,” Leonard says quietly, pushing away the sudden, irrational desire to run his fingers through Jim’s hair.

 

Jim’s eyes fly open at the sound of his voice, and he leans forward, to get a closer look. “Been doing nothing but resting. Thought I’d come by and see you, Bones.”

 

Leonard smiles. “Brought me an escape plan, did you?” he teases.

 

Jim’s expression tightens and closes off, and he lifts his hand off of Leonard’s skin, releasing one finger at a time until he finally pulls away. “Lieutenant Commander McCoy, if you pull that sort of shit again, you will be off my ship before you can even say the _word_ Captain, are we understood?”

 

Leonard flinches at the harsh tone of voice and looks away.

 

“Are we clear, Lieutenant Commander?” Jim asks again, more insistently.

 

“Yes, Captain,” Leonard says softly, “we’re clear.”

 

“You are hereby relieved of duty for the next four weeks. Dr. M’Benga will serve as the acting CMO until such time as I decide you are to be reinstated.”

 

“You’re punishing me?” Leonard asks, unable to bite the words back, “for this? You’re punishing me for this? I haven’t been punished enough? Weren’t the daily torture sessions enough for you?” As soon as the words are out he regrets them and wishes for a way to pull them back in.

 

Jim stands, face cold and unreadable. “I will attribute that burst of insubordination to the medication you’re currently on, Lieutenant Commander. I expect that you to show your commanding officer proper deference in the future. Failure to do so will result in a written warning, and a second offense will result in a transfer off of my ship, with a recommendation to your future commanding officer that you be demoted.”

 

Leonard gapes at him, wondering whether this is even real or he actually has been given some drugs to fuck him up.

 

“I’ll leave you to your recovery.” Jim stands up and walks out of medbay, back straight and tall and stepping in perfect time.

 

Leonard waits until he’s really gone, and then waits another minute just to be safe. “Fuck you, too,” he whispers to the empty air around him.

 

This time, he isn’t tired, but he asks Chapel for a sedative anyway.

 

As the days go on, he starts being able to stay awake for longer and longer stretches, though the nightmares come early and often, and more promptly than Spock to a meeting. He usually wakes up hyperventilating and in a cold sweat, and when someone comes to check why his biobed readings are going haywire, he shakes his head and says it’s nothing.

 

Pavel comes to visit him the day after Jim’s hissy fit. He sits down in the chair and pulls it closer to Leonard’s bed. “I—I do not know what to say,” he confesses quietly, “you kept your promise.”

 

“And you saved our Captain, Pasha. Has M’Benga tried to recruit you for Medical yet?” Leonard asks playfully.

 

Pavel smiles at him, all too briefly, before he looks down at Leonard’s body, still healing in more than half a dozen places. “Our keptin, he is the best in all of Starfleet. But I am wery proud to have been part of your crew, Doktor.”

 

“Pasha, please. I think you can call me Leonard now, honestly. At least while we’re off duty. And thank you, for saying that. But you know it was always Jim’s crew, the whole time.”

 

Pavel shakes his head, looking at the ground as he tries to think of a way to explain it. “No. You—it vas a lie, yes? You lied and said you vere our keptin. But after this, you _became_ our keptin. You acted like the keptin does. You took care of us. You led us. You helped me not be so afraid, Leonard.”

 

Leonard doesn’t quite know what to say to that, so he says thank you. “Now, Pasha, have you commed your grandma since we got back to say thank you for teaching you how to sew? Because next time you talk to her, I want to pass on my thanks as well, if that’s alright. Teach me the words in Russian?”

 

Chekov beams, as he always does when either his family or his homeland is mentioned, and immediately begins teaching Leonard the subtleties of the Russian language. He doesn’t stop until he sees Leonard’s eyes growing steadily heavier, and then he apologizes and leaves to let him rest.

 

Nyota is next. She’s there reading to him out loud when he wakes up, in some beautiful poetic language he has no hope of ever understanding.

 

“Hey, Ny,” he mumbles, eyes opening slowly, “don’t you have something better to do than read to an old man?”

 

She laughs, her sweet laughter like a bell. “Leo, first of all, you are not that old, and secondly, no. I’m off duty for one more day before I get back onto the bridge, Spock’s busy being Acting Captain, Jim’s busy angsting himself into the next century and yelling at people who don’t deserve it. It was nice, being here with you. It’s quiet here.”

 

“What did you say Jim was doing again? I haven’t seen him since he—since his last visit, I guess.”

 

“The epic dressing down? Yeah, Chris filled me in on that, it was pretty unfair, from what I saw. From what we all saw, down there. Who knows if we’d have gotten through it without you.”

 

Leonard scoffs. “Of course you would’ve gotten through it. It would’ve been fine, even if I hadn’t been there.”

 

“You protected us,” she says quietly, “don’t do us the dishonor of brushing it off. It meant something to us, and you didn’t have to do it, and not everybody would have done it, so don’t pretend it was nothing.”

 

Leonard sits back and nods. “I thought I’d be seeing your boyfriend before I got to see your lovely face, Nyota,” he drawls, giving her a charming smile.

 

“He’s been—busy. Dealing with the Admirals, then coordinating the rescue effort, and then the Admirals again, and now he’s doing everything the captain is supposed to do, except he doesn’t quite grasp the idea of letting go of the things he, as First Officer, is supposed to do? So he prioritizes during his on-duty hours, and then works when he’s technically off the clock.”

 

“That does sound pretty awful, but he’s a damn fool if he doesn’t take time out to spend with you.”

 

Nyota shakes her head. “It’s not that he doesn’t want to. I just think it’s hard for him, to articulate how he feels about everything.”

 

“No kidding,” Leonard says dryly.

 

She laughs and places a hand on his forearm. “Not like that, Leo! It’s just that he was scared. He was scared, when we were gone. His best friend and Captain, his navigator, his doctor, two of his crewmen, and his partner all gone in a single mistake. Especially me, he had that feeling of loss of not having me, and now I’m back and he doesn’t know—it’s like he wants that feeling of loss to just vanish, and it isn't going to, and he feels guilty for still feeling sad when I’m back, it’s just a mess.”

 

“He’s lucky he has you to understand how he feels without him having to say it, then. Most people don’t have that, you know. But if you think it’ll help and he won’t kill me, you can always say I’ve been a little bit flirty to make him jealous.”

 

She laughs again. “Best not to take that chance and risk losing my favorite doctor. Now, is there something I could do to make you more comfortable?”

 

“Fill me in on the ship’s gossip?”

 

They chat for a good long while, laughing over the love triangle Chapel’s gotten herself caught up in between a lieutenant in engineering and an ensign in comms. Finally, Nyota glances at the clock and remembers that Spock’s going to be coming off shift. She kisses Leonard’s cheek as a goodbye.

 

“Look after Jim for me, okay? I can’t right now. He’s pissed at me. But please. Someone needs to. Maybe ask Spock to help if he can.” The words are out before Leonard’s good sense can pull them back in, and Nyota turns back to look at him keenly. He flushes under the scrutiny.

 

“Oh, honey, you’ve got it bad,” she says softly, and he can’t make himself meet her eyes, doesn’t want to see the pity there.

 

“Don’t tell him,” he whispers, “please, Ny, I’m begging you, don’t tell him.”

 

“I’ll take it to the grave, Leo, I swear. How long?”

 

“Since the Academy, at least. I dunno, I was sort of in the middle before I’d realized I’d started,” Leonard confesses.

 

Her expression is soft as she looks at him. “He’s lucky to have you, then. Even if he’s an idiot and doesn’t know that he has you quite yet.” She kisses him again, on the forehead this time, and brushes her fingers through his hair before she goes.

 

He lays there for a long while, thinking about her words. He looks down at his hands, at the way they tremble now, when he flexes them for too long.

 

He gets discharged from medbay and gets to go to his own quarters to rest. The familiar room smells musty, but in the best sort of way. The way home smells after you’ve been away a few days. His bed is still unmade, there’s a stack of PADDS on his desk. Hell, the dirty boxers he’d kicked off are still sitting on the floor. He wonders at the man who left this room, at the man who stood beside his captain on the transporter pad. He feels a million miles away from that man, and wonders if he’ll ever be able to feel that way again.

 

Spock comes to see him the next day. “You’re here for my report?” Leonard asks as he opens the door, letting the Vulcan into his quarters, now clean enough that he doesn’t feel embarrassed at having company.

 

“Yes, Leonard, and to check in on your recovery. How are you feeling?”

 

Leonard takes a deep breath in and forces himself to release it slowly. “As Acting Captain, I feel obliged to let you know that there is every possibility that I will no longer to be able to serve as CMO,” he says quietly.

 

Spock starts, or does the Spock-equivalent of a start and instead goes very, very still. “And why is that?” he asks levelly.

 

Leonard holds out his hand, letting him see the tremors. “The bones are all healed, more or less, but there’s nerve damage, I think. Physical therapy may help, but I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to operate again. I’m useless here if I can’t operate, Spock, you know that.”

 

Spock tears his eyes away from Leonard’s trembling hands and when he looks up at him, Leonard’s surprised at the depth of emotion he sees in those dark eyes.

 

“It is not a certainty that the tremors will persist,” he points out, and it’s so calm and rational that Leonard can’t really refute it.

 

He nods instead. “Just—I’d keep an eye out for promising surgeons, Spock, if I were you.”

 

Spock inclines his head a fraction of an inch in acknowledgement before shifting the topic of conversation to Leonard’s report.

 

They sit and talk about everything that happened.

 

“I don’t have very good memories of the passage of time. I routinely lost consciousness during interrogation sessions, and then I would be returned to the others and we would sleep at night, if we could, after we debriefed and made sure everyone was alright. The cell was dark most of the time. There were no windows, and the light in the corridor was faint. The others would have a better idea of what happened during the day, since I was taken away, usually.”

 

“What made you claim you were the captain?” Spock asks suddenly.

 

Leonard pauses to think over it. “I don’t know if I can explain it. Jim was out of it, unconscious. They weren’t going to get anything out of him. He and I weren’t wearing our uniform shirts, because he needed them as bandages. I guess I just—it really felt like I wasn’t thinking at all. I was the senior officer, I wasn’t going to let them hurt anyone else, and I wasn’t going to let them hurt Jim, and I wasn’t wearing blue. So I lied and said it was me.”

 

Spock nods and makes a note of that.

 

“It was almost like—Jim comes up with these batshit crazy plans all the time, right? Well, he’s always been like that, even before you met him. And maybe it’s contagious, I don’t know, but this was the first time that I understood what he was thinking.”

 

“What did they want to know?”  
  
“Security codes, mostly. It helped that I didn’t know them. I don’t know if I could’ve held out if I did. But they had a consistent MO, go through a session, tell me the pain would stop if I would just cooperate... At first I was pretty good, I remembered to call myself a captain, gave them the line, you know? Captain Leonard McCoy, USS Enterprise, serial number NCC-1701, all of that.  
  
“I think I forgot a few times in between. Never called myself CMO, but I forgot to say captain. Told them I didn’t know, they didn’t believe me. Had no reason to believe me, really. Begged them to stop.”

 

Leonard stops and looks at Spock, taking a deep breath in. “Begged them to just kill me, eventually. And then I think I stopped using my words and just screamed. We figured out where I was must’ve been close to our cell, because they could hear me. Apparently I have a very healthy pair of lungs. And vocal cords to match.”  
  
“What sort of physical harm did they do you, Leonard?”  
  
“First day was just beating, with their fists. Second day was whipping and removal of my fingernails. Third day was my hands. Fracturing the bones of my fingers, dislocating my knees... when I got back to the cell, Chekov told me Jim had reopened his wound and needed stitches and he’d gotten an infection on top of that."  
  
“How did you handle that?”  
  
“I regretted it. If I hadn’t volunteered to be tortured every day, I would still have had my hands. I could’ve fixed him up. I felt like I had failed him. But I talked Chekov through stitching him up—I told Chapel I wanted him to be given a commendation for exceptional valor, has that gone through yet?”  
  
“Not yet. I will put it through in the morning, and the Admiralty will need to approve it.”  
  
Leonard nods. “I wanted one for Nyota, too. She bandaged me up the night before. I figured that might not come off too well coming from you, though, so I figured I’d wait until Jim gets back on duty and send him the request.”  
  
“Leonard, I appreciate that, but do you think we could go back to finishing this report first?”  
  
“There isn’t much more than that, really. The day after Chekov stitched Jim up, they did the whips again, and saltwater against the wounds, scalding hot first, then freezing cold. They got bored, I guess, so they threw me on the ground and started kicking me. I dissociated during that, it felt like I was watching somebody else get the crap kicked out of them. And then I passed out and you were the one who woke me up.”  
  
“Is there anything else you would like to have included in this report?”  
  
“No, Spock. But can you tell Jim something for me? Tell him I don’t regret it and I never will.”  
  
“You could tell him yourself.”  
  
“He’s pissed. Last time we spoke, he threatened to get me written up for insubordination, thrown off the ship, and demoted. Haven’t seen him since.”

 

“The captain has seemed… emotionally volatile since you returned.”

 

Leonard barks a laugh. “Emotionally volatile, I like that. It’s a very kind way to put it. He’s being an asshole. Sulking because he didn’t get to play hero this time, that’s it. And he might throw me off his ship for it. Honestly, Spock, after all these years of friendship… I don’t know. I thought I was worth more than that to him.”

 

“Perhaps that is the crux of the problem,” Spock says evasively, rising to his feet. “I do not wish to tire you unnecessarily. I am sure you can use some time to rest. Your injuries were severe, and you know better than I how much of a toll healing takes on the body.”

 

Leonard rolls his eyes. “Everyone’s a doctor now,” he grumbles, though his heart isn’t in it and they can both tell, “mother-henning over me day and night as if I’m an infant who can’t wipe his own ass.”

 

“Leonard, if indeed you do need aid with that activity, I would much prefer you ask someone other than myself,” Spock says, and there’s a little spark in his eyes that Leonard suspects might be humor.

 

But before he can make sure, Spock turns away, heading to the door. Leonard follows, walking him out. “Our conversation tonight was less painful than usual, Spock,” he says, trusting that the Vulcan will know what he means by it.

 

“I should hope it wasn’t painful, as I didn’t inflict any physical damage upon you,” Spock drones. Leonard waves him away and the door closes behind him.

 

With the absence of intellectual stimulation, his body sinks into a now-familiar fatigue and he begrudgingly goes to sleep for a little while.

 

Over the next week, he gets frequent visitors—Chekov and Uhura mostly, though Pavel likes to bring Sulu with him now and again, and Uhura brings Spock sometimes, when he’s off shift. Chang and Segal come by too, and Segal, bless her heart, had even brought him a small arrangement of flowers, deeming his quarters too dreary to recover in. It’s shockingly nice. He had signed onto the Enterprise because of Jim, had only ever decided to be a CMO on a ship because of Jim, and when things were status quo, they spent most of their off time together. It feels a bit silly now, but he hadn’t realized that so many people actually _cared_ about him.

 

But Chekov, Sulu, Scotty, and Uhura come by for poker nights, and Spock diligently holds Leonard’s cards and raises and calls as Leonard directs him. Eventually they become somewhat of a team, and sometimes Spock will offer him a particular look and Leonard will change his decision. It saves him fifty credits and an embarrassing story one night and he grins and offers Spock a hot chocolate to thank him.

 

“Only fair, Spock, the rest of us are drinking. Well, not me, or Chapel would smell the alcohol from here and come to tear me a new one. But everyone else is. So, do you want some?”

 

Spock looks at him intently, head ever so slightly tilted to one side, and after a long moment of silence, he nods. “I will have some,” he declares, “but only half a cup, Leonard.”

 

Sulu, Scotty, and Chekov cheer and even Uhura smiles, and the night goes by too quickly and ends far too soon.

 

All the friends in the world don’t fill the Jim Kirk-shaped hole in his life, though. He tries not to think about it, and then he tries being angry while he thinks about it.

 

Both times he mostly just ends up sad and mopey, without even the consolation of a finely aged bourbon.

 

He doesn’t approach Jim, either. He isn’t the CMO anymore, and the last time had left him shaken. He isn’t even sure that if he was to go see him, that he’d be welcomed. Or wanted. Or even tolerated. The thought of Jim rejecting him, being repulsed by him is so potent that it keeps him well away from Jim’s quarters.

 

The gym is pretty much out of the question, considering he’s recovering from a double knee dislocation and his hands still ache most of the time. So he finds himself settling in other spots, places that are mostly out of the way, quiet but not utterly silent. He reads on his modified PADD, telling it when to turn the page. It’s medical journals mostly, because he’s bored out of his mind when he’s not working, and he’s not allowed back in the labs, either. But sometimes he gets tired, and then it’s books, those he’d read in undergrad and enjoyed, those his mother had always preferred, those that Jocelyn had always hated.

 

Those classics that Jim had been fond of quoting when they were still at the Academy.

 

His door chime rings one morning. He tells the computer to open it, expecting a casual visit from Nyota or Pasha. The younger man’s been visiting more and more often lately, teaching him little phrases of Russian, telling stories of home and listening to Leonard’s own stories with rapt interest.

 

Leonard’s reaction when the shoulders under the command gold are broad and strong and the person is taller is mostly surprise.

 

“Jim.” He rises to his feet, “or would you prefer Captain? I recall you preferring that the last time we spoke.”

 

Jim winces. “Okay, I deserved that,” he says, and his voice is about as small as Jim Kirk’s voice ever gets, and he sounds tired.

 

He _looks_ tired too, now that Leonard’s had a moment to take in the sight of him. Dark circles under his eyes, lines around his mouth and eyes and across his forehead that have been there for awhile but seem especially prominent now.

 

All in all, the famous Jim Kirk looks alarmingly human. None of that concentrated sunshine in his hair, none of that electricity in his eyes.

 

“What the hell happened to you?” Leonard blurts out before he can stop himself.

 

“My best friend nearly died,” Jim snaps back, and in an instant, Leonard understands.

 

“Wonder what that’s like,” he says coolly, “is it anything like your best friend _actually_ dying? Because that wasn’t much fun, from what I recall.”

 

“I didn’t come here to fight with you, why is that what you want?” Jim demands.

 

“Then why the fuck did you come?”

 

“Because my best friend nearly died,” Jim says again, voice so soft Leonard can barely hear it, “and I didn’t want—I didn’t want to waste any more chances. Any more time. I don’t want to waste time anymore, Bones.”

 

With the sound of his nickname, something settles inside him. _Ah_ , says a quiet little voice inside him, _so that’s what’s been missing_. Leonard takes a step forward and then another, and then a third, and then carefully wraps his arms around his best friend.

 

Jim returns the embrace instantly, and while Leonard had been careful, had felt he’d needed to be careful with him, Jim is holding tight, squeezing him hard, as if anything less would be criminal.

 

“Bones,” he whispers, “you almost _died_. I almost _lost_ you. You’re not allowed to do that ever again, do you hear me? I will ship you back off to Earth, I swear to god, don’t test me on that—“

 

Leonard can feel Jim’s breath on his skin and he shakes his head just slightly. “Do you ever stop talking?” he asks, voice a little raspier than he had intended.

 

Jim lets out a breathy little chuckle.

 

“Better me than you, anyway.” The words are true, and maybe that’s why he’s surprised when Jim pulls away abruptly, wiping at his eyes.

 

“Don’t you fucking _dare_ say that. Don’t you fucking dare, Leonard McCoy. I’d take what they did to you on myself a million times before I’d even let them _look_ at you.”

 

“Don’t you understand that maybe I feel the same way about you?” Leonard asks him gently, reaching out and placing his hands, his aching, shaking hands, on Jim’s arms, the muscle smooth and strong under him.

 

“What if I said I was in love with you? Would you feel the same way about me then?” It’s a challenge, and it is the most Jim Kirk way to say it that Leonard can even imagine. Easy enough to pass off as an awkward joke, a challenge he’s not expecting Leonard to meet. Trust Jim Kirk to find a way to win even if his love went unrequited—Leonard can almost hear his voice, crowing _I love you more than you love me!_ with a sort of heartbroken glee.

 

“I’ve been in love with you since the Academy, so yeah, I think it’s a pretty safe bet.” Leonard lets out a little extra drawl, because even before he thought Jim might be into it, he’d already known him to be fascinated by it, the way he was fascinated by all things different from the world he’d known growing up.

 

He watches Jim go stock still, like a startled animal. Leonard, idly, is reminded of a deer scared in the forest, pausing to assess before deciding whether to flee.

 

Then Jim’s in his arms again, and he’s holding him tight, and Leonard can feel lips against his neck, carefully, slowly moving up and across until he’s right in from of him. They’re looking each other right in the eyes.

 

“Jim, if you don’t fucking kiss me right now, I’m going to kick your ass,” Leonard says finally, after he’s tired of the waiting.

 

“I don’t know if I’m into that,” Jim says thoughtfully, “but I dunno, maybe spanking me is the way to keep me in line.”

 

Leonard’s about to say something in response—he’s not quite sure what, but it’s definitely going to be cutting and dry and sarcastic. But the need goes away with the warm, dry pressure of lips against his lips.

 

**Author's Note:**

> this was done quickly, is not betaed (or even edited), and is my first work for the Star Trek fandom. I hope you guys like it!
> 
> Also I headcanon that this Chekov has a crush on Leonard, after they get back and Sulu probably teases the hell out of him for it. I can imagine Jim telling Leonard sometime later, and Leonard trying to figure out how to be there, and be a friend, without leading him on or hurting him.


End file.
